


Bloodhound

by supersoakerx



Category: Paterson (2016)
Genre: Blood Play, Does that make sense?, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingerpainting, Menstruation, Menstruation Kink, Period play, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, but with a period, i guess?, menstruating!Wifey, menstruation Sex, period blood play, tampon play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:07:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24728713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supersoakerx/pseuds/supersoakerx
Summary: Wifey (you) are on your period and read about a way you can ease the cramping pains of it - you just need a little help from Pat (who flipping loves it).
Relationships: Paterson (Paterson)/Reader, Paterson (Paterson)/You, Paterson x You, Paterson/Reader, Paterson/You, paterson x reader
Comments: 11
Kudos: 47





	Bloodhound

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy, I am disgusting and I love this. Apologies for any typos!

Your eyes bug out as you read the article.

You’d never considered it before, but reading the pseudo-science and personal anecdotes about it had goosebumps rising all over your skin, your neck and chest heating up.

You hunch over the front counter, near the register, skimming other articles on your phone, the heat pack tucked inside your knickers doing next to nothing for the aches and pains and cramps in your lower back.

You can’t wait for the clock to tick over into quittin’ time, and as soon as it does, you turn over the “come on in!” door sign and call him.

“Hello?” Pat answers through the landline phone, and somewhere in the background Marvin barks.

“Hey baby, it’s me.”

“Oh hi, honey!” Paterson checks his watch, “you coming home soon?” he throws the tea towel over his shoulder, “how are you feeling?”

You adjust the heat pack, pain flaring through your lower belly and you wince as you reply, “oh you know, like shit on a stick.”

“Aww honey,” his deep voice crackles through the phone, “I knew you should’ve let me run the shop today. I’ve got so much leave banked up and you could’ve rested.” He flicks his gaze back over to the stove, keeping an eye on the curry sauce he’s making for dinner, making sure it doesn’t boil over.

“I know, Pat, I know—but… baby, I read about something today.” Good God, you hope he’ll like it. You hope he’ll _love_ it.

“Oh yeah?” He turns his eyes back to the photo of the two of you that he likes to keep by the phone, for moments like this. He smiles a little, just to himself, as he gazes at it.

“You’ll never guess, like never. It’s a bit of an old wives tale about easing period pain but some people say it actually works, and there’s a bit of science in it too.”

Pat chuckles, small and soft, “And I’ll never guess, huh? You’d better tell me, then, peaches.” Maybe it’s lavender oil, he thinks to himself: he always had a hunch about that, or rose geranium, or—

You take a little breath in—that really could’ve, and should’ve, been deeper—and you answer him with one word. “Sex.”

The line stops for a minute, dead air.

You try again, maybe he hadn’t heard you. “Fucking!”

There’s nothing, silence. _Shit_.

“Pat? Baby?” you prompt him, worry tinging your voice. Maybe bringing this up over the phone wasn’t the best way to raise it, and maybe he wasn’t into it, or maybe he was disgusted—

Pat blusters into the phone, “y-yeah honey yes, I’m sorry. I’m here, yes.”

“Oh,” Thank God, “are you ok, baby? What happened?”

“Yeah, yes,” another soft breathy chuckle through the phone, “sorry peaches I just, I think I was off in my own world for a second there.”

You hum, understanding, knowing. Your Pat, he wasn’t disgusted by it, not in the slightest.

“Yeah, that’s ok, baby,” you soften your voice, “it’s crazy right? How having sex, having an orgasm can help with all the cramps and everything. The human body is just wild.”

Poor Pat, he thought he’d recovered, but on the other end of the line he swallows hard and curses himself to get it together. “Uh, yeah, wild,” he can’t stop imagining it, how _messy_ it would be, “I guess, what with all the c-contractions,” how it would feel, you cumming on his blood-slick cock… he’s burning up.

“Yeah, exactly baby,” you smile to yourself. Pat, starting to stutter? Perfect. “Helps my uterus do what it needs to do!”

Pat grips onto the back of a chair, keeping himself upright. “Yeah,” he squeaks out, willing his dick not to fill up too thick too quick. The thought that he could be that _deep_ inside you, covered in your hot sticky slippery crimson bl—

“Well,” you sigh, making your way around the shop, flicking off the different light switches, “we’re out of painkillers, and I’m down to my last tampon,” you hear his breath catch, and you’re pretty sure you’ve got him, hook, line and sinker, “so I’m gonna go swing by the shops on the way home.” You pause, before this last bit, and you can practically hear his heart beating through the phoneline as you say slowly, huskily, “do you want anything, Pat?”

He feels hot, and he’s certain his face is flushed all pink and red. “Nno no, all good here, peaches. You just get what you nneed and come on hhome.”

You hang up, smiling, having planted the seed for sure. Pat’s filthy mind will do the rest.

**XXXX**

You walk through the navy blue front door to the warming zesty spicy scent of Pat’s favourite curry recipe: tumeric, ginger, paprika, garlic, cumin, and no doubt, a couple of cinnamon sticks thrown in for sweetness.

You hum out in greeting, loud enough for him to hear you from the kitchen, “mm, smells _amazing_ , Pat!”

You shrug off your coat and bag and hang them on the rack, dropping your purchase from the store onto the couch, listening out for Pat to call back to you.

But he doesn’t.

You sing out to him again, let him know you’re home, as you cross the living room into the kitchen to find it… empty. No food, no husband.

Pat is definitely, _definitely_ , up to something.

Suddenly his footsteps sound down the hallway and his voice calls out, “honey? Is that you, peac-,”

He stops when he sees you, his eyes lighting up at the sight of your pretty face, his shoulders dropping in immediate ease as he holds a couple of rolled up towels in his big hands. Straight from the linen cupboard, looks like.

“It’s me, baby,” you answer him, and lean in for a short, sweet ‘welcome home’ kiss, both yours and Pat’s eyes closing for a brief moment. “Whatcha got there?” you ask, even though you’ve got a feeling you know exactly what he’s planning.

Pat licks his lower lip and chews on it, swallows, steps closer. His voice is low and quiet, just for you to hear. “Did you get what you need from the store, honey?”

“Mmhm, all of it.”

He nods just a little, some hair falling into his face, his sweet brown eyes big in a silent, unspoken plea. “I made dinner, it’s ready to go whenever.”

“Mm, smells great, baby. Thanks for cooking.”

“Of course,” he so genuinely means it, he starts saying it before you even finish your sentence. Excited, sincere.

“Pat,” you reach a hand out and trail a finger down his shirt buttons, right down the centre of his chest, “what are these for, baby?” you bring your hand to rest on the soft fluffy bundle of towels.

He gazes into your eyes, “honey… since you called, I…,” he licks his lips again, swallows, takes a deep shaky breath, “h-honey, peaches… c-can we?” Ever so slightly he nudges the towels into your palm, as if they’ll ask the rest of his question for him.

You get up close to him, breathing the words up into his face, “what are you asking me for, Pat?” His lips part, he breathes in your air, and you prompt him further, “what is it you really want, baby?”

It comes out hushed and breathy, “HhhI want to be inside you.”

“Where inside me?”

“In your pussy.”

You make a face of faux-confusion, “but my pussy’s all red and full of _blood_ , baby, do you really want that?”

He almost lunges into you, presses right up against your body, eyes begging, “ _please_ I want to fuck your bloody pussy, peaches, please, will you let me?”

Your eyes flit between his deep, dark, desperate orbs. “Kiss me first, handsome,” you murmur, and Pat doesn’t waste a single other second.

His hands fly up to cradle your face, towels tumbling to the floor forgotten. He moans as your lips touch, and again when you grab his belt and tug him even closer to you.

His big warm hands slink down your body, squeezing your ass cheeks as he kisses your lips, the corner of your mouth, along your jaw: your skin is so sensitive to his touch, his full pink lips leave searing trails in their wake. Little sparks of pleasure tingle in your core, in your breasts, your nipples starting to pebble up stiff and tight.

You gasp his name and Pat hums, kissing his way back to your lips before breathing into your mouth, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark, “do you want to,” he gulps, “shower, or anything, first honey? T-to relax, or—,”

“Do _you_ want me to shower, Pat?” your hands trail up his stomach, his soft, strong chest, and start to unbutton his shirt buttons.

Pat lets out a shaky breath, his fingers coming up to flex on your hips and he licks his lips, mouth forming small different shapes as if he’s about to say something.

You get to the last button and push his shirt open, your fingers slipping under his white undershirt to rake your nails up and down his belly.

Pat shudders, and blurts the words out in a rush, “p-peaches can I take out your tampon?”

You hum, a lick of arousal shooting up your spine at the thought of it, at the idea that Pat wants it, at just how kinky and dirty he can be. You bat your lashes slowly, seductively at him, dropping your voice, “you want to see it, baby?”

He nods: serious, proving it, showing you. “I do, honey.”

“You want to pull the little string and tug that bloody tampon out of me?”

Breath huffs out of him, “oh little peach, please honey, yes. Can I?” He sounds desperate, his black eyes flitting between yours.

You smile at him, and Pat’s breath catches in his chest. “You’re so dirty, Pat.”

“Yeah I am,” Pat murmurs in reply, his eyes shining playfully and the corners of his mouth pulling up just the tiniest bit, “for you, honey.”

You press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, and Pat melts into it, sighing. Pulling away, you husk out at him, “get those towels, and a rubbish bag, and meet me in the bedroom. Ok baby?”

Pat nods. “Wipes too?”

“Good idea, handsome,” you murmur, and slip away from him, kicking out of your shoes and slipping off your cardigan, undressing yourself as you stalk down the hallway to your bedroom. You feel Pat’s eyes on you, and when you get to the bedroom door you look back to find him staring, just as you thought. “Don’t keep me waiting, baby,” you coo, and Pat scrambles to grab what he needs.

You slip out of everything but your panties and sit on the edge of the bed, leaning back on your hands and crossing your legs at the ankles—just as Pat walks in the door, arms full and hair dishevelled.

“Oh, honey,” he breathes, his eyes roaming all over your near-naked form, “you look beautiful.”

“Thanks, baby,” you reply huskily, breathily, in the way you know makes his stomach do flips, “you got everything?”

Pat glances down to the bundle of towels, hand towels, scrunched up plastic bag, and pack of baby wipes in his arms. There’s always at least one packet of wipes in the house: they always seem to come in handy for the things you two get up to. Pat flicks his gaze back to yours and nods. “Washed my hands, too,” he adds, quietly.

You slowly uncross your ankles and ever so slightly spread your legs apart at the knees, silently signalling to him.

Pat’s chest rises and expands with a deep breath in. He crosses the room to you, sinks down to his knees and says, “you’re so good to me, peaches.”

“I know, baby,” you murmur.

Pat’s face breaks into a big toothy grin, his throat bobbing in a silent chuckle. He places his little bundle of supplies onto the floor beside him, clutching the towels in his hands. “Stand up for me, honey?” he asks, looking up at you with eyes twinkling in adoration, anticipation, arousal.

You lift off the bed and stand, and Pat reaches around your body to lay out the towels on the top of the bed cover, pressing soft little kisses and murmuring delicate praises into your flesh as he sets them up: “you’re so pretty, little peach,” and “honey your skin’s so soft,” and “ _mmh_ you smell so good, peaches,” and “thank you.”

When he’s done, looking up at you from his knees, Pat wraps his hands around the back of your thighs and his fingertips rub circles into your skin. He leans in, his nose just almost pressing against your clothed mound.

You know he’s waiting, quietly watching for a sign form you, silently imploring you to _let him_ do what he so yearns to do to your body.

Slowly, delicately, you card your fingers through his silky soft hair, gently brushing it back away from his face. “Are you sure, Pat?”

He looks up at you from under his lashes, nods his head once, twice, slowly, and whispers, “please.”

“Ok,” you breathe back at him, and instantly Paterson leans in to your crotch, nuzzles his nose into your clothed mound and breathes in, deep, eyes fluttering with the heady scent of your pussy, your blood.

His hands cup your ass cheeks, fingers splaying out wide as he holds your groin to his face. He presses in deeper, hungrily seeking your clit beneath your underwear as he fills his nose and lungs with the smell of you: bleeding, sticky, raw for him.

You gasp when he nudges into your clit, heat already flooding your body from how… eager Pat is. It almost makes you flustered, bashful, shy, with how big and black his pupils are, how his fingers flex on your cheeks, how he keeps digging his nose and mouth deeper, starting to softly grunt and sigh into the apex of your thighs as he searches out his prize.

It’s almost like he wants a taste.

“Pat,” you gasp over his name, turned on to the point that you feel ever so slightly uncomfortably wet now, “honey-,”

“Mmh?” he mumbles hot breath into your panties.

“Can you take them off now, baby?”

Pat pulls away, nodding slowly, almost in a daze. “Sorry, honey, you just—you smell so good down here.”

Your breath catches, but you manage to get out, “you’re a kinky man, Mister Paterson.”

Pat chuckles softly, looks away from you and back, a soft, subtle flush rising in his cheeks. His fingers creep up your ass cheeks and hook inside the waistband of your underwear. “I c-,” his throat clicks, “can’t help what you do to me, peaches,” he slowly trails your last item of clothing down over the curve of your ass, “I just want all of you,” he gently pulls the fabric down your thighs, to your knees, “you make me want all of you, honey.” Something catches his eye, and he glances down between your knees to see a tiny little red spot on the inside of your panties.

He glances back up at you, eyes wide, lips parting.

“What?” panic rises in your throat, “what’s wrong, Pat?”

“N-no honey, just-,” Pat starts, as your hands fly down to check what he was looking at, “-just some spotting, peaches, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you-,”

“Oh,” you sigh, relieved, leaning back up, “oh my God, ok-,”

“I’m sorry, baby, I just, I l…,”

You try to settle your breathing, try to relax from misreading Pat’s face as he trails off, “…what is it, Pat?”

Pat swallows, rubs circles above your knees with his thumbs, soothing you. He takes a steadying breath, “honey, I’m sorry. It was just, like you had a little surprise for me. I liked it, honey, and I’m sorry I scared you. I actually… I really l-loved, seeing that, peaches.”

Oh. _Oh._

Pat takes your panties down your calves, all the way down to your ankles, and slowly helps you slip out of them while keeping his eyes locked with yours the whole time. “Will you sit back on the bed for me, honey? Do you want to keep going?”

“Yeah, baby,” you reply, reassured by the kindness, sweetness, earnestness in his eyes. “Sure.”

“Oh, thank you, honey,” Pat breathes, swallowing again as he eyes your discarded underwear. Something about it, maybe something taboo, but more likely something _primal_ in it, makes his manhood stir in his jeans.

You sit back on the little pile of towels he set up, and he flicks his gaze back to your face, murmuring, “thank you,” again and gliding his fingers up your legs.

Your skin breaks out in goosebumps at his touch, sending tingling tendrils of arousal through the peaks of your breasts and down between your legs.

Paterson leans in and presses a soft, chaste kiss to the inside of your thigh, just beside your knee. Ever so slightly, you shift your legs apart just a little wider.

He does it again, to your other leg, a little further up your thigh. You shift your legs some more, letting him in.

Pat keeps kissing your legs apart: slowly, delicately easing you open to him one press of his lips at a time.

Soon, two little pink strands of string are revealed to him, knotted at the end. His breath hitches in his throat when he sees it disappear inside you, your folds big and puffy and swollen, looking so delectable they make his mouth water.

“Mmh, my little peach,” he murmurs before he surges forward and kisses your flesh some more, this time pressing his lips to your clit, kissing it gently, softly over and over again.

“Oh, _Pat_ ,” you sigh, in a startled kind of pleasure as his plush pink lips caress your growing, sensitive bud, coaxing it out as if it’s shy or something—all while a tampon rests inside you soaking up your period.

He hums into your core as his fingers trail up over your belly, then up higher to cup and massage the swell of your breasts, letting his thumbs brush back and forth over your nipples as he delicately kisses your clit.

You breathe out a curse as sparks of pleasure flicker through your nerves, and you buck your hips onto Pat’s face.

“Mmm,” Pat hums as he pulls away, gliding his hands back down your body to grip your inner thighs. He licks his lips, a small part of him wishing he tasted something a little different, something a little sharper and metallic. But he reminds himself: baby steps, next time.

So instead, he sinks lower, catches the end of the string in his mouth, and looks up at you with big brown-black eyes. Waiting, again: checking. Watching your face for your reaction.

You gulp, thickly. This is uncharted territory for both of you, but Pat looks sure, certain that he wants it. You nod, murmuring, “go on, Pat.”

Pat grits the little string strands in his front teeth and pulls back until it goes taut. He stops, concern flashing in his eyes.

“Tug it, baby,” you encourage him, “you won’t hurt me. It’s soaked.”

Something like a little whimper escapes from the back of Pat’s throat.

He starts moving again, biting down on the pink string, part of it wet with saliva from being in his mouth. He pulls again, feels the tiny little weight of it give and move, and watches your face for any sign of discomfort.

You look completely fine, aside from your big black pupils and glassy eyes that tell him you’re enjoying this as much as he is.

He keeps going, pulls the tampon out of you with his teeth, watches it emerge bit by bit sodden in shades of red and brown. He’d been half-hard for a little while now, but the sight of _this_ just makes him thick and fat and throb with want, with need to be inside you.

When the little cotton thing is almost all the way out, Pat makes a conscious decision: he wants to start making a mess. He glances up at you, gives one last tug with his teeth, and lets your bloody tampon slip out of your pussy and bounce onto his chest, staining his crisp white undershirt with little red splotches of blood.

“Baby,” you murmur, just above a whisper. The sight of your used tampon hanging by its string from Pat’s mouth, some of your blood on his shirt… it was just _doing things_ to you.

He fishes around for the plastic bag, drops the tampon into it, and can’t tear his eyes away.

“Holy…,” he starts then trails off softly, quietly, staring into the bag. A bit louder, he murmurs, “this is all, from inside you?” and glances back up into your face, his expression pure wonder.

You nod, and Pat sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, his eyes sparkling at you. He twists the bag closed, and when he goes to set it aside he feels through the plastic how warm the tampon still is—hot, even, in his palm. “You,” he breathes out, “you’re incredible, peaches.”

You smile down at him. For sure, no one has ever complimented you on the way you have your period. All of this is a first, and for both of you, too. “You think so, Pat?”

He goes all shy again, not able to hold your gaze, a pretty pink blush filling his cheeks and neck from how much he means it, how much he liked every bit of that.

“It’s ok, baby,” you reassure him, leaning forward to run a hand through his hair again, “I liked it too.”

He locks eyes with you again. “Honey no I… I really liked it. I’m…,” he swallows, “I’m so hard, peaches.”

For a beat your pulse _thumps_ , and you feel it everywhere. “Yeah? You are, Pat?”

He leans in to your palm, where you cradle the side of his head, and rubs into it like a cat. “It hurts, baby.”

“Do you wanna put it inside me, honey?” you ask, “make it better?”

Pat shudders at your words, but shakes his head and leans away from your palm. “No, peaches. I, I want to play with you. With, inside. First.”

Your brows pinch in a bit, and you tilt your head to the side, seeking more from him.

He knows he can tell you. Knows it’s safe, _he’s_ safe, to share these things with you. He takes hold of your hand from his hair and pecks little kisses to your knuckles between words. “I want to feel inside you with my fingers. Want to feel your blood, inside and then I want to... I want to _see_ it, outside. I want to make a mess, peaches, a big, _bloody_ , mess,” he sighs over his words, and softer, he murmurs, “and see if it. D-does. Does it, clot, honey?”

He kisses your fingers now, and you can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. “It can, sometimes, baby.”

“Oh God,” Pat groans, hot breath fanning over your digits, “God honey I’d just love to see that.”

You can’t help a small little chuckle at Pat’s unbridled enthusiasm. “Yeah, baby? You’d like that?”

Pat hums in reply, “I’d love it.”

“Well,” you settle back on the bed, leaning back on your palms again, “go on and play with me, baby, like you want to. Find out for yourself.”

Pat’s eyes light up, and he takes another deep lungful of air, trying to steady himself against the rush of excitement coursing through his veins. He shuffles forward as his hands fly to his belt, unbuckling it just enough to get his pants unzipped so he can haul his hard cock free of the confines of his trunks.

He sighs at the relief of it, and immediately shucks his shirt up over his body and tosses it off to the side somewhere, hoping that any more splatters or splotches of your period will get on his bare skin next time.

Looking back at you, Pat’s chest heaves with excitement, quick shallow breaths that he struggles to get under control. “Are you ready, peaches?” he asks, damn near panting as his big warm palms trail up and down your thighs.

At your nod of assent, Pat slips one hand around your hip to hold you steady, to feel you from the outside as his other hand inches closer to your pussy, preparing to feel you from the inside too.

He runs the tip of his index finger up and down your lips, and your spine tingles at the sensation: the hormones coursing through your body magnifying Pat’s every move. He circles your clit at the top of an upstroke, and your breathy sigh in response shoots straight through his dick.

Pat trails lower again, gently easing your folds apart until he breaches your entrance with the tip of his finger, slipping just the length of his nail inside you. “Shit, honey,” he mutters under his breath, “this is, you are, _Christ_ …”

“Hmmh?” you’re trying to be patient, trying to let Pat explore your body at his pace, but the pressure in your lower back starts to flare up again, and what would usually be soft, barely there touches are teasing you to the brink of breaking, making you want to push him back, pin him down and fuck him into oblivion on your bedroom floor.

“Honey you’re so hot, inside. Hottest you’ve ever—and—so w-wet, peaches. Like _sticky_ -wet, honey. Can you even feel this?” he slips more of his finger inside your sopping pussy.

“Pat please, baby, more.” You sound desperate, almost pained, even to your own ears.

“I will honey, I will,” Pat promises, but then when he glances down at his withdrawn finger, tinged a light orangey-red all over with viscous streaks of a darker red on top—and the only thing he can think to do is curse.

“Fffuck,” he rumbles, the sight and smell of it making his cock pulse insistently in his lap, “peaches, oh my God.”

“Good, baby?” you manage to murmur out. You hadn’t expected that Pat being so turned on by this would drive you fucking wild.

“So good, honey,” he replies, glancing between your face and his fingers, “two now, ok?”

“Ye-yes!” you moan, starting in answer but ending in pure pleasure as Pat sinks— _easily_ sinks—his index and middle fingers into your pulsing hot core. He pumps them in and out of you, slipping and sliding too freely and already, _already_ drawing out slick squelching sounds from the wet suck of your pussy on his digits.

“Oh fuuuck, Jesus,” Pat murmurs slowly, breathily as he watches his blood-slicked fingers disappear into your hot hot pussy, and come out equally coated in crimson, “shit honey, how is, how is that? Is that good for you, peaches?”

You moan and groan for him, let him know how good his fingers feel inside you, and Pat buries them knuckle deep before asking, “you ready for a big mess, honey?”

You can’t stop clenching on his fingers, and Pat has to grip his cock with his free hand, has to give it just a few tight tugs in time with your convulsing pussy walls. “’m ready, Pat,” you pant, “’m ready, baby.”

Pat groans as he withdraws his fingers from your pussy, his digits all slick and sticky with blood. He takes a shaky breath and drags them down your inner thigh. “Oh, honey,” he breathes, voice low and laced with desire, watching as his fingers paint you. The deep dark red looks so pretty on your skin. “Can I do that again?” he asks, his eyes blown black and just pleading, begging, needing more.

“Sh-sure, baby, mmhm,” you grant him, completely ready for him to lose himself in you.

“Uhnnmf,” he groans, plunging his fingers inside your bloody hole again, but this time, as he murmurs, “ffuhh, thank you honey, thank you,” he leans in and sucks your clit between his plush lips.

You cry out his name, throwing your hips onto his face and hand, “ _oh_ , Pat, Pat! _Yes_ , baby!”

He hums an “mmm” onto your clit, flicks his tongue against it as his fingers plow into your pussy in earnest. It’s incredibly, especially hot, in a way he’s never felt before, and as he pulls and tugs on his hard dick with his other hand, he doesn’t know how much longer he can handle _not_ being inside you.

So Pat pulls off your clit at the same time as he sinks his fingers inside you to the knuckles again, crooking them upwards and turning, rotating his palm, feeling around your walls.

“Pat,” you gasp, “honey, baby,” the words splutter out of you, high and needy, “ _please_.”

He drags his fingers all the way out along your slippery front wall, “I know, peaches, I’ve got you. I’ll make it better, I’m coming, just-,”

“I need your cock, Pat.” Your voice sounds impatient, tinged with desperation around the edges.

“-I know, hang on, honey, I’ve got you,” he wipes his fingers off on your other thigh this time, dragging his fingers to make more lines and patterns on your skin, “I’ve got you, I’ll give it to you, peaches, I’ll give you my cock.”

“Now, baby. Now, _please_ Pat.”

Pat gets up from his knees, “I know, honey, I’m here,” leans over you and presses hot, wet kisses to your lips, along your jaw, down your neck, “I’ve got you, peaches, I’ll make it better, baby, just let me-,” as he hurriedly kicks off his shoes and shucks down his pants and trunks in a rush.

You shuffle back on the towels to give him room to kneel up on the bed between your legs. “I’m throbbing, baby,” you whine, as the bed dips with Pat’s weight. He settles himself between your spread legs, angling his cock towards your hole and lining it up so he can sheath himself inside you in a single thrust.

 _That’s_ how ready you are for him, he can tell.

“Hhhmm peaches, I know, me too,” Pat huffs, breaching your entrance with the tip of his cockhead, “aahh, _there_ , honey. You ready?”

The words tumble from your lips. “God just _please_ fuck me, Pat, you know I’m ready, baby.”

With no resistance at all, Pat sinks his cock into your hot, blood-slicked pussy, so slippery and eager for him that he bottoms out, balls deep inside you, almost too quick for his brain to register what happened.

“Shit!” you cry out, your pussy seizing his dick immediately, hungrily, and a wave of pleasure and relief threatens to overwhelm you. “Again, baby,” you pant, “do it again, Pat,” and wrap your legs around his hips.

“Oh my God, peaches,” Pat breathes hard, heavy huffs of air. He grabs your legs at the crook of your knee and holds your legs out to the side, saying, “please, honey, I want to see.” He rolls his hips where they’re butted up against you, grinding his cock into and along your insides and drawing a sigh from your lips, before he withdraws completely from your bleeding, sticky heat—and nearly blows his load right there.

Pat’s shaft and head is completely and utterly coated in blood, _your_ blood, from _inside_ you. He wants to touch it, wants _you_ to touch it, wants to fuck you blind with it, and for a moment he’s so overwhelmed with desire that the throbbing twitch in his cock is almost painful.

You’ve gotta bring him back down to Earth. “Pat, baby, put it back in, please.”

“Sorry, honey I—ohhf _fuck_ , fuck,” Pat mutters as he lines up again, plunges in, and buries his cock to the hilt inside you. “God I can’t, hhoney you feel so ffucking good,” he’s mesmerised by it, can’t take his eyes away from it, as he sets a slow, languid pace to watch his blood-soaked dick disappear inside your hole and come out just as slippery, sticky, covered in your period.

“Ohh _yes_ , yes Pat, a little faster for me, baby, _please_.”

“Hhh-oh yeah,” Pat groans as he lifts your legs up to rest your calves on his pecs, your ankles at his shoulders. He wraps his hands around your thighs to slightly lift you and hold you in place as he starts to really, properly, fuck into you.

You keen, moaning out your pleasure for him as Pat drives his hips into you, fucking your pussy so hot and slippery wet, imagining his cock coated in your gorgeous crimson and about to lose his damn mind.

“Holy fuck,” he starts, and you know the rambles are coming, “fuck honey, mmy little peach, your puhh, pussy blood is so ffucking hot, God I love this, I love fucking you like this.”

“Knew you would,” you pant, “know how fucking dirty you are, Pat, that you’d love f- _ahh!_ Fuck!” He picks up speed, moaning and groaning from your words, drawing the sloppiest, slickest sounds from your pussy he’s ever heard. “Ah fuck, just like that, baby,” you pant, and he groans, and then in as sultry a voice as you can muster you say, “knew you’d love fucking me while I bled, Pat.”

“Oh _Christ_ ,” Pat groans, huffing breaths as he stuffs your pussy with his cock over and over again, “you don’t under—I want this all the time, peaches, all the damn time, whenever I can have it, _ohh_ my God.”

Suddenly he switches it up, holding both your legs to one shoulder and wrapping his arms around your thighs to keep them together, to make your pussy tighter on him, and groaning when he feels it. “Aahhgh fuck, shit, shit,” his hair bounces into his face with each thrust, sweat cooling his lower back, “love your pussy like this, love it buh-bloody like this, baby.”

With the angle and force and speed of his fervid thrusts—along with your hypersensitivity and the very _idea_ of what you two are doing—Pat’s brought you to the brink already. Just a little, tiny bit more, and you’ll be cumming all over him for sure. “P-Pat, please baby, mmmake me cum,” you whine, voice thin and tight.

Pat doesn’t need to be told twice. “Shit honey, I will, I will,” he chants as he splits your legs apart and hitches them around his waist. He reaches one hand to grope at your breast, rolling your stiff nipple between his pointer finger and thumb. The thumb of his other hand flies straight to your clit, rubbing firm, solid circles into it as he bucks into you, filling you out thick and deep.

“Ohm-my-oh my God,” Pat groans as he looks down between your legs, to where your bodies are joined, his voice sticking in his throat. He didn’t catch it before, but spreading your legs like this, “holy shit,” he sees there’s blood _everywhere_ : all over your pussy lips, some on your inner thighs, some on _him_ , around his pubic bone.

That’s when he feels you tighten up on him, gripping his cock tight with your pussy, as a slippery sticky wave of blood smothers him some more and your moans of pleasure ring out across the room.

He throws his head back and groans, eyes pinched shut, “Christ honey, God your pussy feels so good,” before he snaps his head back to yours, his eyes black and wild, “I can feel you, peaches, I know you’re gonna cum on me.”

You grip the sheets, grip his wrist, try to anchor yourself to _something_ as Pat jolts your body with the force of his thrusts. You whisper and gasp, voice raspy and squeaky, “harder, harder Pat.”

He groans, voice breathless, as he slows the pistoning of his hips to a roll, so he can adjust your bodies. “I’ll give it to you, peaches, I will, I promise,” he brings one of your hands to rub at your clit, the hand he knows you like, and your other to toy with your nipple. He hikes one of your legs up, holds it there, and uses his other arm to hold himself up as he leans over you, murmuring through hot panting breaths, “I’ll give it to you how you want, honey, just how you want it,” before picking his pace up and pounding into you deep and fast and hard.

You cry out his name, about to snap fracture break on his cock, with the way he’s ramming into you and how you work your own fingers over yourself.

“Ohh _please honey_ , let me feel it, peaches,” his voice is ragged, raspy, shredded up, before he goes deep and gravelly with it, “wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

“Pat, Pat,” his name comes out in little squeaks as your orgasm builds, climbs, threatens to overtake you.

And when Paterson huffs and grunts the words, “wanna feel this bloody pussy cum, peaches,” you do – shattering for him as your walls spasm and seize and convulse on his cock, coating him thickly as he ruts into you, giving you as much of his cock as he can for you to clench tight and clamp down on.

“Fuuhck yes, oh God yes, honey fuck,” Pat moans as you cum around him, staving off his own release so you can feel every last second of yours.

When you touch ground again, Paterson leans in and nuzzles into your neck, pressing hot breathy wet kisses to your skin as he rolls his hips into you, deep long drags of his cock pushing through all the sticky, syrupy slickness between your legs. “Honey, oh G-God, you make me sohh happy, peaches, you’re so beautiful, God I love your body, I want to live in you,” he rambles between kisses.

“You-you want to, cum in me, too, baby?” you pant, your fingers trailing through his hair and gliding down his sweaty back.

“God yes, honey, fuck yes,” he breathes, pushing up off you and back to his knees, resuming a faster, tighter pace.

You chant praises to him, breathless but encouraging, about how much you want his big cock to cum to inside you, fill you up, make a mess of you—

“Ohh fuck I’m gonna cum, fuck, I wanna see it, wanna see…” he trails off.

“See what, baby, see what?” you pant, trying to rhythmically clench your pussy around him, to make it really just so fucking good for him.

“Fuck honey, I wanna see my fucking cum in all your pussy blood, fuck, _shit!_ ” his hips stutter, losing rhythm, pace faltering, “oh God, honey, I’m cuhh, peaches I’m- _ohh_ ,” he groans, a deep rumble through his chest as the first contraction seizes, the first spurt of cum spilling out of him.

He moans, groans, breathes heavy and hard as his orgasm wracks him, and he pulls out and angles his cock so that just the tip is half-in, half-out of you, watching his dick twitch and his creamy white cum and your viscous sticky crimson mingle as they seep out of your pussy.

Glassy-eyed and dazed, chest rising and falling, Pat glances up at you when his orgasm finally subsides. “I-I came a lot, honey.”

You smile and nod, sex-happy and proud of him, of both of you. “Mm, I thought you did, baby.”

Paterson huffs laughs, short ones between breaths, and shivers with an aftershock when he glances down at his softening, blood-covered cock. He flicks his eyes back up to you. Pat wants to hold you, caress you, wrap you up in his arms and be your heat pack for a while... But first thing’s first: he’s gotta clean up the mess he made. “Hot shower, peaches? We’ll clean this up after?”

“Mmm,” you raise yourself up onto your elbows, “Very. Steamy, please baby. You know what I like.”

Pat slips off the bed, leans down and presses a kiss to your knee through a small smile. He says, “I’ll call you when it’s ready, honey,” into your skin before making his way to the bathroom, where his muscle memory turns on the taps to get the temperature just right for you, just the way you like it.


End file.
